Cynical Serendipity
by amethyst noir
Summary: A secret organization plots a global overthrow and their biggest and most irritating enemies are five teenage boys whose hormones may turn out to be their own largest enemies making the destruction of OZ look like a cakewalk.
1. The Art of Stealing a Car

**A/N: **This has been brewing for quite some time...it is a 'first meeting' styled story not involving space or mobile suits, not meant to mar the original, just a different take...it's traditional parings with hopefully a limited amount of fluff...please enjoy and review if you are so inclined...thank you.

_Warning: This story is rated T for language and possible violence._

**Disclaimer:** The sad truth is that I don't own Gundam Wing and no one is making any money off of this venture...and surprisingly, despite lack of payment, no one's complained yet.

* * *

"_**Cynical Serendipity"**_

"_The world has achieved brilliance without wisdom, power without conscience. Ours is a world of nuclear giants and ethical infants. We know more about war than we know about peace, more about killing than we know about living." --Omar Bradley_

**Chapter 1: The Art of Stealing a Car**

The night air was suffocatingly humid. But for the young man melting in and out of the shadows it didn't make much of a difference. He had only one objective: get the _hell_ out of dodge.

As of now Heero Yuy was lividly cursing his employer, a man to never be questioned, but readily able to be disliked by all he came in contact with. Like a contagious disease or the seeping stench of meat slowly rotting in a tepid refrigerator.

This time around Doctor J, always so thoughtful, had neglected to inform his charge that after setting the bomb in the OZ establishment he had to negotiate his own transportation back to their current base.

Heero glanced down at the glowing green watch strapped to his wrist. Approximately two minutes, give or take. He sighed, aggravated with life itself at this point. Finally he came across what he was looking for.

Dark blue eyes illuminated with anticipation in the dim night light, Heero ran his fingertips down the shining hood of a black BMW M3 he'd seen earlier when J's car had passed down these blocks.

A smug smile crossed Heero's face as his fingers finally came in contact with the driver's side door handle. It clicked open. Heero knew from experience that certain people were simply moronic. Usually those who enjoyed flaunting their money for everyone to see, like through expensive cars. These gluttonous idiots occasionally lacked common sense; they figured that an upscale city meant that thieves were nonexistent and that their good luck could never be marred.

Heero laughed inwardly at the massive half-wit who left _this_ car unlocked and unattended to.

He slid into the car, gazing admiringly at the clean leather interior. His hands wrapped around the steering wheel, the smooth material gliding beneath his palms. Then his gaze flickered to the wires beneath the wheel and set about the tedious task.

Heero looked for the two red wires, digging his switchblade from his pocket and stripped about an inch of the insulation from each. He then carefully wrapped the bare wires together, twisting them tightly, careful not to let them short against any of the car's metal components. This connection would provide electricity for the ignition, so the engine would be able to run when started.

Leaving the twisted wires, Heero's fingers searched for the ignition wire. Upon grasping the brown cord he proceeded to scrape it about a half inch and then touched the end of the stripped wire with the intertwined red ones.

After a few guarded seconds the engine rumbled to life and the dark grin on Heero's face grew. He revved the engine and then peeled away none too gracefully from the curb, just as an explosion rocked the night.

* * *

The heavily concealed OZ base in the center of a primarily upper-class city was one of the most safe and guarded facilities known to man. The chain link, barbwire, electrified fence surrounding the grounds was just a taste of the base's security. Thousands and thousands of dollars had been spent updating and modernizing the establishment's protection, yet somehow it had been penetrated.

Lieutenant Zechs Merquise stared at the flaming rubble and ensuing panic that had so instantly encompassed the now destroyed OZ base. Two things were running through his mind: The infiltrator must have been invisible and they must have been fearlessly indestructible. _A perfect soldier...a perfect terrorist...a perfect enemy._

It sickened the man to no end that the person had outsmarted everything OZ was working for, everything he himself was working for. Yet, for some unfathomable reason, Zechs had a sense of notable gratification about the operative. Only a truly determined person would be able to complete such an impossible mission.

"How bad is it Zechs?" asked a resonating voice in his ear. It crackled in from the phone the platinum haired man had nearly forgotten he was holding.

"They hit us hard, sir."

"How many?"

Zechs closed his eyes, squeezing them tight for a second before opening them again. "Just one, sir. That's all our salvaged security cameras are picking up."

"How?"

"We are currently unaware, sir."

"Alright Zechs. Get some rest, you'll need it."

Zechs stared ahead, watching the dark smoke against the even darker sky and how it seemed to melt against it's black background. He didn't reply, simply hung up and decided to take the advice given to him by Trieze Kushrenada. _Answers_, he thought, _will have to wait till morning._

* * *

Heero drove at top speeds through the night covered streets. The only light afforded to him was that of the moon's simple rays and the flickering street lamps placed randomly along the sides of the road. He liked the feel of this car. The engine was quiet, but still provided the purr that energized it's driver. The ride was smooth and fast, how Heero enjoyed it.

But an unforeseen complication had just pulled up next to him at an annoyingly long red-light. The car was dark as well, mainly because of the inky atmosphere surrounding it, but when a glint of moonlight hit the driver's window it illuminated a face behind the thin glass.

He couldn't stop himself from steeling a glance in her direction. She couldn't have been younger than his own age of near sixteen. From beneath the shadows he could see her crystalline blue eyes and a few locks of golden blond hair. She was pretty; not overdone like models or the wives of plastic surgeons. Just attractively lovely.

The girl's eyes turned towards his spying ones which were quickly averted back to the infuriating stop light. Heero caught her smile out of his peripheral vision and stared even harder at the light, which in that moment thankfully changed to green.

Heero floored the accelerator, wanting to get as far away from the girl as possible. Avoiding confrontation with anyone was part of his assignment, as always.

Heero never believed in karma, chance, fate and certainly not God, but as he neared a stop sign he was planning to run something clicked in the boy's mind and in the BMW's engine. As the car sputtered and swerved under his strong grip Heero cursed every known living being in the universe--counting Doctor J twice--and finally allowing his foot to slam on the brakes.

_Damn car. Damn mission. Damn J. Damn life._ The girl had just pulled up next to his smoking vehicle.

"Oh my God! Are you alright?" Her voice was how he had imagined. Honeyed and slightly too high for his liking. She stood by his door now, looking at him through paranoid eyes.

_Don't panic,_ he told himself._ Just tell her to go away. That everything is under control and you don't need her help. _

But Heero's brain was having a hard time communicating with his mouth. "Everything's fine," he muttered, still not looking up at the girl, but moreover trying to hide as much of his face as possible in the shadows. That was all he needed; a witness.

"Are you sure? Do you need help? I can call my car service...I'll call right now, they can bring a tow truck--"

"No!" Heero yelled, moving his head to look the girl straight in the eyes, having now forgotten about hiding anything from her. "Get the hell out of here. I don't need any _help_." His voice was cold, hard, and unforgiving.

"But--"

Heero wasn't listening to the blond anymore. He popped the hood and opened his door roughly, nearly slamming into her legs as she backed away, surprised by his abrupt actions. He walked to the front of the BMW, and tried to lift the hood. "Shit." It was smoldering.

Heero used the end of his shirt to touch the hot metal, lifting the hood and putting a hand over his nose and mouth to hold back the smoke that invaded the air around him. He heard the girl coughing. She was standing behind him, watching him in curiosity. Heero groaned loudly and slammed the hood down. He didn't have time for this.

His eyes roamed over the murky, dark surroundings. The girl's car was still running. It was an adequate model, not as satisfactory as the BMW, but it would have to do seeing as it was his only option.

"You call that tow truck," Heero said, turning to to the girl. He ran to her car, slamming it into drive and pulling away before he barely had the door closed. Heero Yuy never looked back and didn't care about the girl he had left behind. Nor the peculiar look of intrigue on the delicate features of Relena Darlain.


	2. Long Distance Coincidences

**A/N: **Thanks so much for your reviews! Here's chapter 2...sorry for the wait...

* * *

**Chapter 2: Long Distance Coincidences**

Duo Maxwell was an impatient person. Though he should have been used to the infuriating five o'clock traffic of New York City, he still managed to do his fare share of cursing and obscene gestures as he wormed in and out of lanes and ran nearly red lights.

Not to say that Duo was a bad driver, he just fit in extremely well with his fellow New Yorkers. The silver cross hanging from his rearview mirror swayed as he made a sharp turn into a large parking garage, nodding to the security guard as he pulled into the lowest level and finally parking his old, black Dodge Charger. He loved the damn car, even if it's mileage sucked. Hell, it was a classic and the way he kept it waxed it turned everyone's head when he sped past.

He walked out of the parking structure and up the street to a gray, insignificant looking office building. The establishment was a perfect cover for his employer, G, and his operation. Duo walked cheerfully through the front door, past reception and straight to the block of elevators at the end of the entrance hall. After waiting the usual several seconds for an elevator to arrive, Duo slid in and punched the 'eleven' button.

The ride was short and smooth as always. When he arrived on the eleventh floor, however, his high spirited demeanor quickly dissipated. He remembered why he was here: to see Professor G.

G was not necessarily a kind man. One infatuated with death and all things associated with it, yes. But certainly not warm towards anybody. He enjoyed watching the war games unfold and dealing out assignments to his subordinates.

Though Duo did not exactly like the man, he respected G in more ways than one. Duo had grown up predominantly under the man's care and all but called the headquarters his home.

He walked into the waiting room outside of G's office with anxious anticipation snapping at his heels. Though as he slunk across the room towards the secretary's desk Duo noticed something different. Instead of the easily vexed middle aged woman who usually occupied the desk, there was a young teenage girl. She had short, stylishly messy dark hair and bangs that nearly covered her sky blue eyes.

Duo faltered.

"Hey...uh...where's Ms. Charlotte?--"

"The Professor gave her two weeks payed vacation...nice of him wasn't it? I'm from a summer intern program...Hilde's the name. And you must be Duo," the girl answered, smiling widely. Duo wondered vaguely why anyone would think G was doing a nice thing...but then again, maybe Hilde wasn't completely informed on the actual work that took place in this office building and their employer's true demeanor.

"Erm...yeah." He cleared his throat. "That's me...Duo Maxwell."

Hilde nodded, something of a pink tint invading her cheeks. "G's waiting for you."

Duo nodded back, uncomfortably aware that he may have been staring at the girl for slightly too long. He then turned and walked dazedly into G's office, not even bothering to signify his arrival with a polite knock.

"Duo," G greeted, peering up at the braided boy from beneath his gray, mushroom-cloud hair, his dark, tired eyes studying Duo's face. Duo sat in the chair facing G's desk cautiously, keeping his own expression neutral.

"You're late," G informed him gruffly.

"Traffic," Duo replied with a shrug, wanting desperately to roll his eyes at the stony appearance of the Professor, but knowing better than to do it outright.

G made an attempt at a smile, the scar lining his cheek twitching slightly, but it ended up as more of a sneer. "Yes, well...I have a new assignment for you, Duo."

Duo listened to G and gazed wearily down at the documents placed haphazardly in front of him. The whole mission itself sounded particularly boring, but important nonetheless. But spying on an OZ affiliate had no sense of danger and there wasn't any call for firearms or explosives...just a surveillance job.

Duo sighed and nodded for what seemed like the hundredth time, when a thought popped into his mind. "Where exactly is this all taking place?"

G looked slightly irked that he had been so abruptly interrupted, but looked back down at the manila folder in his hands. "Mongolia."

Duo shook his head slightly. He couldn't have heard right...Mongolia? That was half way around the world...and he was supposed to be there by tomorrow? He had just barely been briefed! "Mongolia!?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?" G leered, a slight hint of amusement in his tone. Duo nodded, still not completely aware of what was actually taking place.

"No...no blowing anything up then?" he wondered sadly.

"Simple undercover intelligence work...no need for the 'God of Death' this time around."

Duo inclined his head again, exhaling. _Mongolia eh? Wonder what the weather's like this time of year?_

* * *

The plane ride was cramped, long, and dull, three things that irritated Duo whole heartedly. He squeezed his eyes shut, how had he ever gotten mixed up in this business anyways? The world of espionage was almost entirely insane, the people who worked in it mainly certifiable. Duo supposed that maybe, on some levels, he _did_ fit in.

He blew his chestnut bangs meaninglessly out of his eyes and allowed himself a sidelong glance at the two passengers next to him. There was an unmistakable air of tension that enveloped the odd trio of teenagers that just happened to be seated in the same row. Duo tapped his fingers on his knee anxiously, averting his gaze to the window and then slyly back to the two boys.

The young man closest to him had a faraway look in his sable eyes and stared placidly at the seat back in front of him. His hair, pulled back in a severe pony tail, was a livid shade of obsidian. His lifeless expression was steely and his dark clothes, nondescript.

Duo's eyes flicked to the next boy, who's face was just as uninformative. There was a grisly bruise along his neck and collar bone that made him look as if he had been in a car crash recently and the lifesaving seat belt had left its mark where it dug into the boy's skin. His hair was coffee-colored which contrasted dully against his deep, Prussian blue eyes.

Duo had never seen anyone sit so still for so long in his life.

He refrained from looking at the young men for any longer than his curiosity called for. Duo hoped that their cold, cynical looking dispositions weren't contagious. That was all he needed, to be even more depressed on this mission.

He sighed and checked his watch. They would be arriving in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia soon and he would be catching a connecting flight to Ulan Bator in Mongolia. He wondered vaguely if these two suspiciously detached passengers were heading to the same destination as himself.

* * *

Upon arrival Duo found himself in the middle of a highly urbanized city, trying to find his way around without looking like a bloody tourist. Using the inept maps G had supplied him with, however, he managed to find the hotel he was staying at, registered under the generic name of Max Smith.

"Enjoy your stay, Mr. Smith," the desk clerk told him with her best fake smile. Duo thanked her, equally insincere, and made his way up to the room he would be calling headquarters for the next two days.

The hotel was extensive, elegant, modern, and filled to the brim with rich snobs and important military officials attending the very conference Duo was to be spying on. When an elevator arrived at the lobby Duo found himself joined by a man who was going up to the floor below his own.

As nonchalantly as possible, Duo allowed his curious eyes to wander to the man standing quietly next to him. He was tall and broad shouldered with tan skin, golden hair and a look about him that made him seem fairly well off. His eyes were a dark, iridescent blue with the most peculiar forked eyebrows above them.

Duo looked away, stammering secretly to himself. _Treize Kushrenada._

The elevator slowed beneath their feet and a light chime signified the doors were opening. With an ominously knowing glance back at the fazed you man, Treize left Duo in a contemplative, slightly overwhelmed state of silence.

* * *

After his strange encounter with Treize the day before, Duo was quite less than eager to do any spying on the man. But following a long debate with himself about the consequences of _not_ performing G's task, he decided that a little nerve wracking espionage was better than anything G could and would dish out.

Dressed entirely in black, but trying fashion wise not to look like a proverbial cat burglar, Duo headed out from his room, a switchblade in his possession and the blueprints of the hotel tattooed to his memory.

After jogging down the necessary flights of stairs to the lobby and conference level it didn't take long for Duo to locate the ventilation duct he was looking for. The bland, white washed hallway--good fortune being on his side--was desolate and he still had ten minutes before the conference's first meeting started. All the officials would already be seated, waiting patiently, including Treize.

The ceiling was low and Duo was fairly tall so it didn't take much strain for him to pull the grate out of the ceiling, though he was troubled with a face full of dust and plaster. Grumbling, Duo pulled himself, silently and agilely into the duct, replacing the vent in his wake.

Because he was not the smallest fifteen year old in the world, it was going to be a trick to make it comfortably and without sound to his destination: the conference room ceiling vent. Tucking his long braid in the back of his shirt to keep it out of the way, Duo started his trek.

Upon reaching what he severely hoped was the correct ventilation grate, Duo held his breath and listened carefully to the low voices emanating from the room below. He gazed through the small cracks in the metal inlet down upon a group of what he supposed from G's descriptions were OZ officials. He strained his vision to find his main subject, but didn't get very far in his search for Trieze.

A nearly inaudible creak made his head snap up. Another metallic groan followed, then one more. Duo's hand instantly went to the sheathe on his leg carrying his small but deadly blade.

From around a metal corner several feet ahead of him appeared a determined, but meditative face and black, piercing eyes that Duo recognized.

Wufei and Duo stared at each other for a few seconds, neither quite registering what the hell was happening.

Then, as loud as they dared both boys let out a yell simultaneously.


	3. Dead End Shot

**Chapter 3: Dead End Shot**

_"What the hell!?"_

"Shut up!" Wufei hissed.

"No, _you_ shut up!" Duo shot back.

Wufei glared at the boy, silently taking in the obnoxious stranger in front of him. He had unruly brown bangs that hung low over inky violet eyes and an overall up-to-no-good look about him.

"You're that kid from the plane," Wufei stated, quite unimpressed with the idiocy of the problematic proceedings.

"You read my mind," Duo replied, squinting at the Chinese boy in an attempt to interpret his surreptitious appearance. "Just who are you?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Wufei barked, still minding the level his voice reached seeing as how they were literally right on top of the OZ meeting.

Both boys studied each other scrutinizingly for a long, tense moment. Wufei held his ground, not wanting to show any sign of weakness in front of a potential enemy, while Duo took into account the oddness and likelihood of the situation.

"Look, pal," Duo started quietly, "I'm here for something, and it's obvious that you're here for something. Now I ain't here to check out these air ducts and I'm willing to bet that neither are you."

Wufei kept his glare fixed, blank, and callous, but was listening intently to the other teenager with a hint of interest in his ebony eyes.

Duo continued unfazed. "Treize Kushrenada and a bunch of OZ hotshots are down there." Duo pointed to the vent. "I'm trying to figure out the odds of you not being here to spy on them too."

At the sound of Treize's name Wufei gave a barely audible growl and his mouth twitched into a sneer for a millisecond. Duo noticed.

Wufei hesitated, still unwilling to trust the other boy, but finding a hinting feeling of inquisitiveness in the back of his mind. "So, who are you?"

Duo thought for an instant about using a fake name, but when whatever rational mind he had kicked in he decided that coincidences of this magnitude were not to be questioned. "Duo Maxwell."

"And Duo Maxwell," Wufei, not bothering to introduce _himself_, went on, "What exactly are you doing here...in this ventilation shaft?"

Duo smirked imperiously. "Why, spying on Kushrenada, of course."

"You can call me Wufei."

Niceties exchanged, the boys got to work.

* * *

The day before, a boy not older than the ones sitting in an air duct above a top secret OZ conference, was taking his time cleaning the sniper rifle he'd been issued earlier that day for use on his latest mission.

He sat in the weaponry room of a hidden Mediterranean base thinking over what S, his peculiarly nose-less employer, had briefed him on earlier that morning. The door opened and closed noiselessly and Trowa looked up through his unusual bangs to face the young woman who had just entered.

She was naturally lovely with thick auburn hair that curled quirkily at the ends and periwinkle blue eyes that sparkled even in the shadows of the windowless room. She was tall and leggy with light caramel skin and many different colored piercings lining her ears. She was also just a simple desk assistant who managed ledgers and took letters, which meant it was curious of her to be in the weaponry room.

"Hello Catherine," Trowa greeted, an inkling of a smile on his half hidden face.

"How are you doing Trowa?" Catherine asked, her voice bubbly as usual. She grinned and walked closer to Trowa, gazing interestedly at the gun in his hands.

"Well," was the only reply that she got from the stoically quiet boy. She knew all too well Trowa's disposition, but she admired the detached boy and often enjoyed speaking to him, even if the conversation was mostly one sided.

Trowa went back to the rifle and task at hand, while Catherine slipped around the room, examining everything with an appreciative eye. There was every sort of hand held weapon imaginable lining the walls of the small enclosure. From pistols to sharp shooting shot guns, grenades on the top shelves, metal garrotes, throwing stars, and every sort of blade fathomable.

Catherine's fingers danced across the hilts of a few high grade daggers, her eyes glowing excitedly. Trowa was so intently inspecting his rifle that he didn't notice the first knife fly past his head into the target practice sheet behind him.

His eyes raised slowly to meet Catherine's smug face. She threw another perfect shot. He didn't flinch. Catherine's expression withered fractionally, her spirit deflated ever so slightly. She threw one more, this time off kilter. The dagger passed next to Trowa's eye, the steel a mere millimeter away from his unblinking features.

Catherine gasped, her playful facade evaporating completely. "Trowa...I'm so sorry!" He stayed cool and expressionless, not a hint of fear or surprise ever registering on his face.

"Trowa?"

The young man stared at Catherine and quirked a low eyebrow. His emerald eyes held a glow of impressed amusement. She let out an uncomfortable laugh, then nearly collapsed in giggling relief.

* * *

The next day, following Trowa and Catherine's exploits, Quatre Raberba Winner was carefully peering around the corner and down the hallway of one of the many corridors of the expansive Maganac base. He was going out..._just to go out_ and nothing short of a nuclear apocalypse was going to stop him.

Now, for any other teenage boy this would be a simple, common task. But for Quatre he might as well have been on one of his reconnaissance missions. It was a difficult thing for _anyone_ to make it out of the base undetected, let alone the small blond. The Maganac Corps, particularly Rashid, were extremely careful people, especially when it came to Quatre's well being. He smiled to himself, it was a good thing one of his best traits was stealth.

Quatre deftly made his way down the hallway, the nearest exit in plain sight. His hand was resting on the doorknob when a throat was cleared behind him. It was a large, gruff throat from what he could make out, and he, to his unfortunate luck, recognized it all too well.

"Going somewhere, Quatre?" Rashid wondered, a hint of complacent amusement in his deep voice.

"Yes." Quatre replied simply, turning to face the broad shouldered man.

Rashid's gaze lingered on the boy. "A new assignment from Instructor H?"

"No," Quatre answered, slightly bewildered by the man's question. He followed Rashid's wondering look to the gun holster beneath his vest. Carrying his pistol was a habitual action for Quatre, it came with his line of work, and seeing as how he didn't go out casually very often, he supposed that he had just put the holster on automatically like it was second nature...which it was...except for now it was causing him a slight bit of grief.

"Oh...well...I was just _going out,_" Quatre said, flustered. "You know, just to get out...I haven't gotten out in a while." He laughed anxiously. Rashid gave him a peculiar look.

"All right," the towering man responded. "Just be careful, Master Quatre."

"As always, Rashid." Quatre smiled and left the base, a distinct, gratified hop in his step.

* * *

Trowa was running hard and fast. Probably setting new world records.

His mission had gone, from a certain perspective, _somewhat_ successfully. He had indeed assassinated his target and attained the documents he needed, but there was one small problem. He was caught red handed...almost literally red handed. There was a lot more blood than he had originally accounted for.

Trowa was out the lobby doors of the high rise before it's un-commendable security was even exiting the stairwell. He was covering ground so quickly that he nearly missed a perfectly good escape route down a narrow walkway between a questionable pawn shop and an equally questionable bank. Needless to say he was not in one of the better parts of the Arabian town.

Sprinting recklessly along the back alleyway he noticed all too suddenly that it was a dead end. There was a knob-less door at the end surrounded by un-clime-able stucco walls.

"Damn," he muttered, only audible to himself and his suddenly overactive conscience. But then, to Trowa's complete surprise the door opened.

Bottle green met aquamarine in complete bewilderment. Calculating eyes locked on each other, the two teenagers remained utterly still.

Quatre's gaze fluttered for a fleeting moment to the stained papers the other boy held in a vice grip and the sniper rifle hanging lazily off his back. Likewise, Trowa took into account the stranger's obvious gun holster protruding from beneath his vest.

While Trowa tried to figure out just what kind of normal teenage kid walked around with a six-shooter these days, Quatre was noticing, among other things, the headings he could read on the papers crumpling under Trowa's curled fingers. _OZ._

For a moment the two made eye contact again. In one full, sweeping movement Quatre had pulled his gun, aiming it right in the direction of Trowa's face.


End file.
